


Bulletproof Strategy

by isadorable_army



Category: NCT (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Competition, Alternate Universe - Some fucked up art hunger games shit, And loaded., Angst, Artist Kim Taehyung | V, Because Taehyung is all he needs, Chef Kim Seokjin | Jin, Dancer Park Jimin, Designer Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Don't quote me on this shit, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jhope is poor but thats okay, Jimin is probably too stuck in the past but we love our bby, Jin and Yoongles are just friends...probably, Jungkook just wants to die in a hole and it's great, Kim Namjoon | RM Is So Done, Love Triangles, M/M, Min Yoongi likes his coffee how he likes his men, Okay so the Minjoonkook is weird you'll see, Singer Jeon Jungkook, Tattoo Artist Min Yoongi | Suga, Writer Kim Namjoon | RM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isadorable_army/pseuds/isadorable_army
Summary: What is the art of war?





	1. Trust

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY LET ME START OFF BY SAYING THAT
> 
> WHY ARE THERE NO TAGS FOR DESIGNER!JHOPE?!?!?!? THIS IS THE BEST CONCEPT YOU GUYS ARE...EHAT THE AVCUAL FUDK?!
> 
> okay now we are calming down and cutting to the chase, Isadora. These are notes not fucking...rant pages.
> 
> uHM this is my first published work. I'm a kid from discord who has been writing for their short lifetime and I thought that I would never get to the end of this but it ended up being relatively short??? (Add me btw it's love.isadorable#5288)
> 
> I mean when I start getting feedback on this, ofc imma continue with 7 new installments but listen dudes...This took me like the whole summer because I was lazy.
> 
> Uhhhh!!! Yeah okay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1/7 TEAM KOREA REPRESENTATIVE:  
> THE BULLETPROOF STRATEGY
> 
> “If the world is your oyster...you better make a damn good oyster linguini.” 
> 
> SUBJECT: KIM SEOK JIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting all of these in one day so I might come back to edit the notes but otherwise...ehhhhh

As Jin tossed the scallops in the air of his kitchen, the aroma of ground garlic fried in the juices of tender morsels of oyster washed the room and migrated its decadent perfume to the front of the restaurant. His arsenal workers were terrifically busy networking a surplus of complex orders--each dish more high-demand then the next. They shot out like bullets to and from behind the kitchen doors, occasionally yelling out orders that would be taken care of by some poor new kid who was usually easy to spot from the rest. 

In the midst of this chaos, Seokjin did not break a sweat. His mind working like a well-oiled and strategized machine, Kim Seok Jin did not stutter in his art. He did not hesitate to get things done in such a pressured environment because he trusted his team enough to execute their duties as he had instructed him to. It was another day at his restaurant. 

Recently, it had been climbing the ranks as Korea’s most renowned culinary experience, with its chef only 7 months out of culinary school, he had made the little community of outer Gwacheon a boom-town for the culinary arts, making it a staple in the South Korean critic’s foodie pilgrimage. 

A news station logo flashed on the screen of the restaurant, displaying an angled shot of Jin’s school. The scene cut off into an interview with a familiar face. Jin grinned as he briskly glanced over his shoulder to see who was being scoured for answers on his unanticipated success, this time. “It’s not a surprise to me that Seokjin-ah made it big,” Explains his chef at the school of the arts Seokjin had studied at merely two semesters ago. “He has a sharp mind. He has an eerie sense of focus. It’s almost...magic to his successors here at the academy. They follow him around, studying his teachings hand and foot.” The chef leaned on a nearby counter. “Some might even end up working at his restaurant at this rate.”

That made Seokjin smirk.

The scallops sizzled against the pan with a hiss, a golden crust now seared on their plump skin. Seokjin then carefully shed them from the skillet and began presenting on the plate. He gently layered the creamy white sauce he had on the back burner, which now had a slow-roasted and rich undertone to it, over the scallops and reached over for the bell. 

*Ddaeng!!*

One of the waitresses hurried over to flip the sign on the door and they were officially closed for lunch. 

A waiter had gone and taken his dish away to be served to a woman sitting by the counter. She sighed in delight as she took a bite and that was Seokjin’s cue to clean up his station for the last time of the day and begin untying his apron. He watched the customers leave the restaurant, carrying on conversations about the food even as they walked out into the busy streets that hustle and bustle in the city, eventually disappearing into the mobs at the stoplights.

Seokjin swung through the kitchen door with an exhausted countenance painted on his face after a long workday. He sat down in one of the booths and scrolled through the notifications on his phone, answering texts about his schedule next week, replying to requests for catering, and confirming his plans for a Friday night date with late-night television game shows while holding a bowl of microwave popcorn. 

Something caught his eye. A text message from a number Jin didn't have on his current phone, but it was engraved in his mind from his adolescence. It read a simple message, but the content wasn't important. What made Seokjin’s heart stutter was *who* finally bothered to stick his head out of the clouds and contact him, once more. 

< (000)-000-0000 >  
“I look forward to seeing you again. I’d like to apologize. I’m willing to try this again.”

Exactly three seconds passed where he sat perplexed, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then, Seokjin’s breath spiked again. 

An alarm began sounding abruptly on the television. A news report flared on screen, causing all the remaining employees to stop what they were doing and look up at the screeching screen. An idiosyncratic banner with a routine motto displayed under it. “A message from The Republic Of Korea’s National Cultural Representative Council,” It read. An image of a woman with tied back hair and a pointed nose began speaking with a Seoul dialect appeared with a picture of the Representative building next to her.

“...For those who do not know of this regulation that was recently passed by the UN and will be in effect this month, the law states that every twenty years, seven men between the ages of 19 and 27 years are eligible to be selected by the NCRC and participate in an honourable event to represent the Republic of Korea in the cultural program for the UN.” The woman spoke in a very objective voice, although her hands were notably quivering and her eyes screamed in panic. Though the woman spoke in an urgent tone, her panic was very apparent.. That was shown by her quivering hands and the panicked look in her eyes.

“What’s the deal with this?” One of the waiters shouted at nobody in particular. “That’s ridiculous. Those seven would have all the nation’s power.” He had a cross look in his eyes, his arms folded in a defensive stance. Seokjin swallowed hard. 

“What does that even mean, ‘participate in an honorable event’?” Another burst out in frustration. “Why are we--”

Someone grabbed the remote and turned the volume up. “How many points each of these participants earns in each of the events will be the number of seats that the Republic Of Korea gets to represent themselves in the UN Council for the next 20 years.” 

A dreadful silence overcame the room and Seokjin had a sour taste in his mouth as he began to drift in and out of an almost dream-like state. He got up from the booth and went to get a glass of water with ice, as he made his way around the statues that were his employees, with their mouths hanging open like dead fish.

“Today, the UN has decided on the seven men that will be participating in the international event in various cities around the world,” A list of names flashed on-screen. “In South Korea...If the men who are chosen fail to earn at least 7 seats out of the 40 available, they will be executed.” The woman’s voice was now a threnody to Seokjin’s ears. It fought with the white noise still lingering in his mind from the initial alarm. 

Kim Seok Jin - Culinary Arts  
Min Yoon Gi --

He didn't bother reading what he got in for.

Jin examined the room in complete shock, not able to feel his fingertips or his feet as he tapped them nervously against the carpet. The workers were pale in the face, many unable to look their boss in the eye, shaking with fear of what would become their future in the next 20 years. It all depended on the man that some had only known for a month, a man that Seokjin hadn't talked to since his senior year, and 5 other artistic geniuses of which he'd never heard of. 

The hairs on the back of his neck floated up in a tangent, Seokjin’s mouth became a wilted, parched desert. He was unable to form the fruit that was a word on his tongue, yet he could not swallow. He flickered his eyes around his beloved restaurant.

He couldn't give it up...even if it meant working with the most hard-headed kid he knew. 

Seokjin decided right then and there that he was going to hand himself over to his new team. He needed the complete trust of the others around him. It was all he knew.

Trust in his team is what would prepare him for the events that will eventually make or break him in 9 weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	2. Zeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2/7 TEAM KOREA REPRESENTATIVE:  
> THE BULLETPROOF STRATEGY
> 
> “If your art does not change people’s perception of something in their waking life, you are not an artist.”
> 
> SUBJECT: MIN YOON GI

There weren't many criminals that got letters from the government asking them to come to a dinner party, so when Min Yoongi got an invitation from The Blue House “cordially inviting” him to one, he knew something was up. 

Ever since Yoongi had gotten a degree in the visual arts and disappeared from the surface of the earth, leaving almost no paper trail, he was convinced that he was permanently off the radar. He was employed under a very secluded and quiet taboo tattoo shop located under Daegu that circulated around the area, hand in hand with the drug routes and the weaponry scene-- so to begin with, the fact that they even knew his identity was enough to get him fired. 

With this underground boom of culture, came a respectful genre of music and Yoongi happened to be at the heart of that, as well. The shimmering lights and the mosh-pit of teenagers with a high libido that ran the rave scene injected an adrenaline in his blood--a high that had him addicted from the get-go. 

The river ran deep for Min Yoongi, with a drive for the aesthetic of the double life in one of the largest party cities in Korea. With nothing left of his past self except an acquired skill of surviving as a lone wolf, Yoongi grew up fast. Identity crisis, mental breakdowns, and insane get-together stories formed a huge archive of character in his name over the next 3 years and with that, a certain crew’s attention was spotlighted on him--The Ms--that seemed to think they adopted Yoongi into their little group. 

The Ms were heavily influenced by the tattoo movement for the freedom of expression in the youth of South Korea, so they were able to beeline Yoongi into a job, easy. But, Yoongi never really considered himself one of them. They got him a place to stay in exchange for tattoos and rent money, so they were the closest thing to family that he still somewhat considered decent human beings. They pretty much shared everything. Trusted one another.

But, not when nobody knew the reason as to why he would leave on Fridays and Saturdays at midnight for. When nobody asked what he followed the westbound train tracks for. He wouldn't come back for days...weeks at a time.

No one really asked.

No one asked where he came from when he got there, either. They didn't care, as long as he put on the mask and made the magic radiate through his fingers with the soundboards. 

Because then, he wasn’t Min Yoongi. He wasn't the dude who finished his degree and was resorted to wander the streets begging for gigs at art shows with his portfolio halfway finished because of the useless barking at his mother that his older brother thought he couldn't hear through the walls. He was trying to draw but ended up with a crumpled ball of paper, having been ripped...One paper turned into a notebook, and that one notebook turned into five.

The perpetual nights at home where he sat, tears rimming his eyelids as he tried to sleep by observing the vacant street out his window...when there was nothing he could do but watch and obey….it created a vengefulness in his state of mind. He could do nothing but spectate as it all fell apart at the hands of his family. The problem was, Min Yoongi had a limit. Once he reached that limit, he couldn't watch it anymore. 

It was his time to make things right for himself, so once he knew enough to understand that he was better than just to gawk at this stupid game he was in the middle of. 

He became a creator. A creator of worlds, a creator of stories and fantasies that could be lived through by music. A whole mosaic of adventure, longing, and feeling could be felt through the simple composition of a few chords blasted through to the crowds of youth waiting for the time of their lives to fly by. The idea that someone could come and be free through the music and forget themselves to become whoever Yoongi wanted them to be was overwhelming. 

He controlled how they perceived the world and society today. He made art through putting on the faces of thousands of people and telling their stories through their perspectives. The perspectives of the young people who just got out of high school or college and have absolutely no idea what they want to do...He produced because of the people he understood. 

Under the neon lights of the club with the mesh fences and the buff security sewed into the mob, he was “The Trancer”. Night after night of success and letting go of everything that didn't have to do with his fans or his music became like a drug addiction with each high requiring more work, more effort.

Until his real, other life came knocking at his door, literally. 

Yoongi kicked the covers from off his legs and threw them over the bed, his feet thudding against the carpet of his bedroom at the ring of the doorbell followed by the bark of the neighbor’s dog. He dragged himself across the living room, scratching his head as to who would be dumb enough to disturb him at this hour. 

As he opened the door, a letter fluttered to the doormat outside and landed at Yoongi’s bare feet. “NCRC” the outside read, with a stamp that looked like a huge golden flower with a yin and yang symbol in the middle of it. He took it inside and slouched over the card on his coffee table. 

“What the hell…?” He squinted, wedging his fingers in between the crisp folds of the bureaucratic-looking post and ripping it open. Inside, there was a blue-tinted paper that had the following message typed up with a seal at the top-left corner:

“Min Yoon Gi of Daegu, North Gyeongsang Province, South Korea. It has come to our attention that you are not registered in any of our records in city hall, so it was difficult to reach you. However, that is not the matter of this letter. You have been chosen as one of seven men to represent Korea in the--” 

Yoongi stopped reading entirely, got up and rifled through his desk and equipment for a shredder. “Why would you ever believe that I would partake in such an event! Do you know how much I’ve worked to get rid of what I had wrongly chosen as a career? How could you possibly under--” his stream of thoughts came to a halt.

Kim Seok Jin - Culinary Arts  
Min Yoon Gi - Audio Arts

“How could you possibly understand?” A familiar voice echoed in his clouded mind, somewhere. Yoongi tightened his grip on his phone. 

“We’ll finally cross paths again.” He mouthed. “It’s been long enough, hyung.” The thought of seeing that dependent, spineless media-pleaser of a friend he had again came over Yoongi. He doubted he had changed one bit. However, he’d made it, as far as Yoongi was concerned. Was it really Yoongi who had been in the wrong this whole time?

It’s funny. Yoongi spent his time running from the media’s attention and Seokjin did nothing but chase the spotlight. They were complete opposites. So why did he think this time things will change? Even Yoongi couldn't've told you that. Here comes another thing he couldn't explain...

He ran his thumb over the impossible word:

Audio. Questions raced through Yoongi’s consciousness as a feverish sickness began to take form in his head. His identity was on the verge of being compromised and the whole country had their eyes on him. It was inevitable. He was chosen to make a statement and represent his youth. He decided there was no way to pass this up. But...how would he gather up the confidence to stand in front of his whole country, tattooed and criminal-recorded while representing all of Korea? Yoongi stared down at his arms.

Now, he can’t control what they see...but maybe he could control what they hear.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------  
Mini-Drabble Crack 1/??

“Yoongi and the Execution.”

One day, Min Yoongi woke up with the sudden urge to reread the note that the Blue House had sent him. He stumbled on the couch and skimmed over the letter until he came across the word “executed”.

“If you fail to achieve at least 7 seats for the Republic of Korea, you will be publicly executed in dishonor.” 

Yoongi sat, nonchalantly.

“Lit.” He got up and went to make himself some black coffee.


	3. Paroxysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/7 TEAM KOREA REPRESENTATIVE:  
> THE BULLETPROOF STRATEGY
> 
> “If you have to sacrifice your happiness to keep the electric bill paid, then you'll really experience the darkness in life.” 
> 
> SUBJECT: JUNG HO SEOK

*Riiiiiip*

Hoseok’s scissors tore through the discount fabric he had gotten at the markets of outer Gwangju, slouching into his chair as he glanced one more time at his concept board. The shades let little strips of moonlight through to spotlight the dust particles floating their way across the room to land on the mess of papers and sketches that laid scattered on Hoseok's desk.

“If I put...the calico cat pattern on the skirt, then I would have to rethink the color for the top,” Hoseok ran his fingers through a sample fabric made of linen with a design of little calico kittens sound asleep on their beds and laid it next to an eggshell-white fabric that gives off more of a clean-cut feel. 

The sketches piled on top of magazines and written articles on his work depicted a dress with a sweetheart neckline. It had a natural knee-length skirt blotched with coffee brown, sepia orange, cream watercolors painting the ridged paper. The shape was definitely what needed to be highlighted in this spring’s collection, but Hoseok was weirdly anxious about the design.

Hoseok bit down on his pen. “Could I use the same color creme for the top if I…” Hoseok trailed off in thought as he got up from his desk chair and began marching through the living room to fetch his materials. He happened to have an excess of the exact crime he was looking for left over from last winter. “Great,” He breathed, grabbing it from his closet, power-walking back into his bedroom and throwing the cloth onto his sewing table. 

Hoseok gripped his phone from his jacket’s pocket and dialed his assistant’s number, but then quickly hit backspace and sighed. He stared at the date on the fashion show poster hanging above his bed. “April 20th Spring Collection by Jung Ho Seok.” Was it possible to call back all of the posters and just...not have a show this season? He didn't know.

Hoseok quickly scrolled to the first page of his phone and gaped at the taunting date. “April 18th.” How was he supposed to put together half of a collection in less than two days? Why was he even doing this? This was the worst idea he had ever had. “Become a designer, you're talented! The expenses will pay themselves off after college!” How naïve of him to believe them….to believe that he could make it as an artist with a starving wallet that was soon mirrored in his own starvation. He needed to find a way out of it all, and right now his favorite solution was to ignore the beady-eyed sewing machine.

Hoseok cast himself on the bed and stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars he had stuck to the ceiling when he had moved in with the help of his sister. “Where is she, nowadays? Is she happy?” Hoseok reminisced as he took deep breaths. He reminisced how she would teach him about the best wool to use for a sweater and the basics of how to work a machine...happy.

“Far, far from here...maybe she is.” He answered himself. His eyes drooped down.

And then...when he opened them, it didn't change a thing. It was pitch black inside his house. Of course. Hoseok whined with a knowing groan bubbling up his throat. He then held the phone to his ear and began whining *at* someone instead of to himself. 

“Taehyungiiieee~~” He mewled into the phone. A disappointed, yet playful chuckle echoed in the room, causing Hoseok to unconsciously pout. “C’mon over.” Taehyung teased. “But you gotta make sure the electric bill is paid for next month because my brother--” He didn't even bother to listen to the last part of Tae’s sentence as he began chucking clothes into a duffle bag along with basic toiletries. 

*Ding Dong* Hoseok shamelessly rung the doorbell of Taehyung’s house, a bag strapped across his body, sewing machine and materials in the trunk, and beanie slightly tugged towards the back of his head. It felt only natural for Hoseok to had stopped by the bakery to buy Tae a chocolate muffin as a housewarming gift, the first time he slept over wouldn't stop fantasizing about them--it was almost sexual how he described the rich, smooth chocolate melted over the last--

“Hoseok.” Taehyung snapped at the door, having caught his friend daydreaming at his doorstep. “Dude, just come in.” His face was still a little flush because he was just about to fall asleep, it is 11 o’clock at night. He had a robe on with a mug of what looked to be herbal tea, barefoot with his hair pinned to the side with a clip. 

“Right. How’s my favorite model?” Hoseok strolled inside the house and set his stuff on the couch, smiling up at the jaded Taehyung. “The show is in two days, and it looks like I’m not the only one scrambling for a blow-up.” He noted. 

“I wanna die.” He stated, bluntly. “I had to drive around like a crazy man all over town to find the colors I needed for my painting and...It’s been a long day.” He took a sip of his tea, eyes weary and tone drowsy. “But you're here...so, I’m sure things will get better.” He contradicted, putting on a worn smile as he nodded into his mug. 

“So what you're saying is...I’m your good luck charm?” Hoseok theorized as he slipped off his shirt and put on a larger, more “at home” t-shirt. 

“What I’m *saying* is that you're my friend and you're a decent person.” Taehyung sat down on the couch and turned on the television. “And a talented designer. I’m very proud of that, Hobi.” He added as he laid back into his seat, watching the news.

“Well, alright. That’s close enough.” Hoseok surrenders and plopped down next to his friend, focusing his attention on the television. The room grew to a tense volume. 

“....passed by the UN and will be in effect this month, the law states that every twenty years, seven men between the ages of 19 and 27 years of age will be eligible to be selected by the NCRC to participate in an honourable event to represent the Republic of Korea in the cultural program for the UN.” There sat a young woman with stitched back hair who seemed to stare intensely at the camera as she spoke, a look of total dread in her facial expression that was accented by the confidence of what she was saying. 

Hoseok sneered at the screen.“That’s total bullcrap. How could have passed the house? It’s clearly against every law ever passed by the humanitarian--” 

“How many points each of these participants earns in each of the events will be the number of seats that the Republic Of Korea gets to represent themselves in the UN Council for the next 10 years.” 

The clock on the wall began ticking the loudest it had ever been, beating the seconds into the wall. Hoseok swore he felt his eardrums fail. He glanced at Taehyung who was tearing through the articles on his phone about the events, scouring the webs for names. Hoseok glanced over at Tae’s phone.

The word “executed” floated in the thick air of the living room, shooting his ear.

Not their names,  
Not their names,  
Jung Ho Seok - Design and Fashion

Hoseok felt as if someone had punched him in the throat, as his spit ran dry and tasted like venom in his mouth. His head pounded with the sound of that damn clock. 

So this was what he was meant to do. All that time struggling with money to design and do what he loved, to keep himself and his art alive even if sometimes it would only be his art that survived-- it could all be paid off with this.

Either way, Hoseok’s life had changed forever...but there was something tugging on his heart as he turned to look at his dear friend, chaos, and terror manifesting in his expression, single tear ebbing on the left side of his face, twinkling in the light.

“Kim Tae Hyung,” He whispered. “Visual Arts”


	4. Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4/7 TEAM KOREA REPRESENTATIVE:  
> THE BULLETPROOF STRATEGY
> 
> “Everyone else knows where they’re supposed to be...But only I walk without purpose” 
> 
> SUBJECT: KIM NAM JOON

There are two types of eclipses known to the scientific world. 

Lunar eclipses occur when the Earth’s shadow is cast on the moon for a brief moment when it is the night.

Solar eclipses occur when the moon’s path crosses in between the Earth and the sun in the day. 

However, many people are blind to an even more phenomenal and impossible eclipse. An eclipse of the minds and bodies of every one of us.

From the impetus things that we learn when we are very young, like right and wrong to direction, day and night...These opposites find a harmony and makeup who we *are*. 

We are so small. The expanse of the universe seems to devour us. Forests with skyscraping trees that turn into futuristic glass corporations that reflect the glitzy lights of the 3 AM take-out restaurant “Open” signs. 

We have created beliefs based off of the sky. So why did Namjoon always feel the least faithful under the night sky of New York City?

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Who do you think you were, Kim Namjoon?

Forget that. After today, Kim Namjoon wasn't anything. Not a writer, not an artist...at this point, he wondered if his poor heart was still fighting for a career.

The campus wasn't that far by bike, and the wind stirred up the withered leaves that flew past as he navigated the streets of the caffeine-succored city, already buzzing with anxiety for the day to come. It was quite nice out, however, the crisp autumn breeze was overpowered by the smog of the 10:00 AM buses en route to 6th Avenue, stopping to drop a load of sharply dressed men off at the congested bus stop. 

Despite it being somewhat sunny today, Namjoon wore a long parka and a long knit scarf that wrapped snugly over his mouth and rested right under his flushed nose, where puffs of warm breath evaporated into the air.

He shivered as he walked to park his bike in front of a large institutional-looking building. He took out a pair of glasses from his pocket, putting them on, as he scribbled down the date on a small notepad with a pen. 

“November 19th,” 

He closed the notepad and pushed through the glass doors of the building, sauntering languidly into the lobby. He glanced briefly at the reception desk before scrambling his way to the front of the crowd near the elevators, clearing his throat. He pressed the number “14” in the elevator panel and disappeared into the blob of people.

 

The crash of a drawer slamming closed cut through Namjoon’s office, followed by the flipping of a thick stack of printer paper. “There is an estimated 650,000 copy pre-order on your latest novel, with sales income at about $40 million dollars total. Kim Namjoon, what the hell are you gonna do with that kind of money?” Jimin lay the stack down on Namjoon’s desk and glared out the window of the cubicle. 

Namjoon chuckled as he grew closer to the man who was shaking his head at his own reflection with his arms crossed in disbelief. Namjoon grinned. “I honestly have no idea.” He admitted. 

“But isn't it great?” Namjoon placed both his hands in the back of his head, leaning into his wheelie-chair with a child-like glimmer in his eye. “We could settle down right now if we wanted. Imagine that, at 20-something we’d already be set for life...sipping the finest champagne in Bali or some luxurious resort far away from this disgusting place.” He fantasized, clicking his pen.

Jimin’s eyes widened. “You moron. Do you know what happens to people who get rich, quick? They spend all of it real quick and then become bums like Nellie down there…” Jimin pointed at a homeless man at the curb of the street, picking the clementine skin from underneath his fingernails.

Namjoon stood up and put his hands around Jimin’s waist. “Don't worry about it. I’ll get everything sorted.” He assured. “Besides. You're the ballerina here, why are you scolding me about money?” Namjoon sneered, squeezing Jimin’s waist before letting go and glancing at the clock. “In fact…” He grabbed the keys from his desk and tossed them over to Jimin. “You should head over to the studio, you’ll be late for the first time in your career. Wouldn’t want that.” He teased.

“You're right,” Jimin replied, strolling towards the door. “Before I go…” He gripped the knob and looked over his shoulder. “I want you to know that you may be the best-selling author in New York City, but that doesn't mean you have the right to go around carelessly giving money away. I’m watching you, still.” Jimin pursed his lips. 

“And?” Namjoon prompted.

“Love you.” Jimin mustered out, his cheeks blooming a light pink. “I’ll see you at lunch, love.” With that, he left the office. 

“Love you, too.” Namjoon nodded as he gestured Jimin goodbye, opening his laptop and getting on Microsoft Word. 

“Could you get me some coffee? Kekekek” He messaged Younghoon, the whiny assistant for his floor. It took a while, but sure enough about five minutes later, a groan was heard from the cubicle inside Namjoon followed by a harsh “Ah, why do I have to do everything for that try-hard Mr.Kim…” until the angered mumbling became incoherent.

*tsk* Namjoon shrugged, opening another tab and typing in his email login information. He began humming “Here Comes The Sun” as he started from the bottom and worked his way up the reads about bookstore orders and legal requests until something caught his eye. 

Before Namjoon could finish reading the subject, his phone sounded, distracting him. “Jimin.” 

“Joonie,” Jimin’s voice seemed...off. Something in his voice was quivering a bit too much to be considered normal, and Namjoon noted the undertone right away. “Did you check your emails this morning?” Jimin urged.

“No, I’m doing that right now, why?” Namjoon rolled away from the computer and faced the glass wall behind him, taking his pen in his mouth. 

“I was listening to the radio...and uhm,” Jimin hard swallowed as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I’ve been chosen to represent South Korea for the NCRC.” 

Those words made no sense to him, at all. Why would the government representative of a country that Jimin had never step foot in contact him? It was ironic, situations like these. Namjoon usually had trouble getting the reader to get his theme in his writing. It seemed as if Jimin had taken the text of one of his old, wrinkled sci-fi ideas and morphed into the main character. “Joonie...watch the link I’m about to send you. I love you. I’ve gotta go pack.”

“Pack? What d’you mean, pack? Why does the NCRC even have your contact? You aren't aren't even a proper Korean citizen.” Namjoon reached to catch Jimin before he hung up in a rush. A messaging tone punctuated his confusion. They had just gotten back from the trip to LA for the winter dress rehearsal and there was nothing set on the calendar for months about going renewing his Korean passport.

Namjoon unlocked his phone hesitantly and clicked the link Jimin had sent him, scrunching his eyebrows at the title of the video. It was from the news station. 

“And for those who do not know of this regulation that was recently passed by the UN and will be in effect this month, the law states that every twenty years, seven men between the ages of 19 and 27 years of age will be eligible to be selected by the NCRC to participate in an honourable event to represent the Republic of Korea in the cultural program for the UN.” There sat a woman with piercing eyes and a daunting demeanor sitting up straight, uneasily scanning her paper for her next few lines. 

“No,” he breathed. “Jimin…” Namjoon let out a forced sob as a fearful tear rolled down his face, pioneering a stream dripping down onto the mahogany desk under him. 

Beside the woman appeared a list of names with occupations besides them. As the woman read the list aloud, Namjoon whimpered when he heard Jimin’s name.

Then, it had hit him like a wrecking ball. A storm of thoughts bombarded his mind; thoughts about what would take place in the following months, thoughts about how they would possibly be able to stay close...with Jimin being in Korea, competing with the most elite dancers in the world. *His* Jimin.

“So far...away.” He managed to choke out, putting one hand over his gaping mouth. “Back to Korea…” A blurred memory tore through Namjoon’s conscious like a flash of lightning on a stormy night. He turned his attention back to the list of names as if his vision was distorted...or as if his hearing was messed up from listening to too many rap albums...but, no. There it was, the name of his boyfriend, digitally seared into the screen.

Then, something else caught his eye as he read down the death row list. Something far more dreadful and sickly, something even more personal and stomach-churning. It seemed as if the screen wasn't done devouring it’s tribute victims.

Kim Nam Joon - Literary Arts 

Namjoon’s tears rolled onto the office carpet. “I thought I left...it was another life!!” He silently screamed to himself. “Back there is another life!! I don't want--” Namjoon was interrupted by Jimin’s nullifying purl. “It’ll be just fine. Watch. There must be some legal way to fix it. Don't you wo--” 

Namjoon hung up the phone and shut down his computer. He ignored the knocking at his door and sat up in his chair.

“You need me one more time, old friend? Top 2%? I thought you said I was a waste.” He whispered, a glint of hysteria in his eyes as he plugged in a headphone, grinning like a madman.

“Who do you think you were?”


	5. Iridescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5/7 TEAM KOREA REPRESENTATIVE:  
> THE BULLETPROOF STRATEGY
> 
> “Many painters are afraid of the blank canvas, but the blank canvas is afraid of the painter who dares and who has broken the spell of 'you can't' once and for all.” -Vincent Van Gogh
> 
> SUBJECT: KIM TAE HYUNG

“Hi. My name is Jung Hoseok, I’m from Gwangju.” He took a bow. “I’m going to be a designer when I’m older.” 

Taehyung didn’t know what to think of the boy with a seemingly endless energy, at first. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle-school crowd of Daegu. Honestly, he wasn't much at first. Taehyung thought of him as the boy that sat 3 seats away from him at school and always had a goofy grin spread prominently on his face and left his books in class.

That is, he didn't think much of him until their mothers became best friends. Then, Taehyung was actually stuck with this kid. So, he figured he might as well be a good son and let him take a look at his paintings. 

“Wow...you made those? The technique is really pretty. I like the way you painted the sunflowers. It feels as if I could just reach out and bask in the sunlight.” Taehyung’s eyes widened. No one had ever seen his art, nevermind thought it was *good*. Suddenly, he felt Hoseok’s eyes on him. “Right, but, it’s not like I--I’m that good. I just like to paint to take my mind off things.” He hastened to add.

“That’s why I design. To get my mind off of all the people I miss back in Gwangju and because it makes me feel better.” Hoseok giggled, stepping back and putting his right hand on Tae’s shoulder. “Actually…” Hoseok began making measurements in his mind.

Tae felt his cheeks redden.

“Have you ever considered modeling?” 

Oh.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Taehyung woke with a heart-wrenching feeling deep within him. His eyes fluttered open as he darted his eyes across the room. The shrill of his cell phone sounded, forcing Taehyung’s zombie-like hand to grab the phone and dismiss the alarm. A few seconds later, it began ringing again.

He squinted at the blinding light of the phone that flashed him with maximum brightness and then realized it was the event manager calling. Taehyung groaned and picked up. How would he explain that Hoseok didn't have the line ready on time? 

They should be excused, considering what happened yester-- “We need to cancel last minute.” The event manager read Tae’s mind.

“Yeah, thought so,” He replied, coolly, “I don't care what your reason is, just...Send him the new date as soon as possible.” Tae eased up. “Thanks, Sooyoung.” He hit the red button and flopped back into bed.

After that, Tae couldn't move from his bed. He didn't even have time to think--no. The show was canceled. It was more like he didn't want to think about what had occurred yesterday. He wouldn't let it get to him, he decided.

So, he stared at the window with light streaming in through the cracks in the shade and hitting his painting, instead. It captured a scene of a sunflower sitting on a windowsill with a view of a vacant beach behind it with palm trees swaying in the wind. 

Taehyung groaned as he tossed himself over to the other side of the bed to see Hoseok with his eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. 

“Stop that. That’s creepy.” Taehyung pointed out to Hoseok, which made a large grin spread across his face. “What? I’m just...I had a good dream.” He justified.

“You're so strange, you smile after having been given a basic death sentence.” Taehyung sneered, crossing his arms and joining Hoseok. “So weird…” he murmured.

“Want to get breakfast?” Hobi sat up, suddenly. “Taehyungie, can I make pancakes?”

Taehyung shuffled in his sheets and sighed deeply. “Yeah, sure. The mix is in the cupboard and you know where everything else is.” He closed his eyes once more. Before he went out, he heard a quirky “Thank you~~” followed by a crash of pots and pans in the kitchen. 

Taehyung’s eyes cracked open for the second time with a strong poke to the shoulder. “Hm?” He grunted, stretching his arms across the bed and huffing profoundly before looking to see who dared disturb his little nap. 

“They're on the kitchen counter and they might get cold if you wait so I think you should get up,” Hobi suggested, innocently.

“Don't want any,” Taehyung said. “Don't want any? Really?!” Hoseok kneeled down next to the bed and studied Taehyung’s grumpy expression. “Hmm…” He poked Tae’s cheek playfully. “Okay. But don't ask me to heat it up in the microwave later on today.” Hoseok got up and grabbed the remote on the table, turning on the TV. 

The news was on and it was the same report from yesterday but it was being announced by channel 6 this time, which provided a whole profile of each of the selected people for the event. One of them was an underground EDM artist, which caught Tae’s eye and there were even some foreigners of Korean descent participating. He would be excited for all of this, he thought, if he weren't one of the participants. 

Although, he was immensely curious about what would go on in the following months. His curiosity was short lived because much to his surprise, an event planner was conveniently emailed to his account, according to the news station.

“Isn't it great?” Hoseok sighed, sitting down on a nearby loveseat. “They've planned it all out, we don't have to pay for anything…” “Yeah, and they're death threatening us.” Taehyung snapped. Hobi’s smile dropped. “It’s better than rotting in my dark apartment for another 6 months.” Hobi shrugged. 

“How could you be happy about this? I seriously don't get it. You've been giddy all morning because of the government forcing us into some dystopian Olympics?” Taehyung clenched his fingers deep into his palm and mustered up the anger to stare at Hoseok with a mix of frustration and confusion in his eyes. 

“And...and…” Taehyung stuttered out. 

“It’s a second chance. As my best friend, of all people, I thought that you could understand all that I have worked for...all the places I had tried to make ends meet are finally coming together.” Hoseok brooded, repositioned himself in the chair and cleared his throat. 

“That is...for you.” Tae pointed out. “All of this is just a huge nightmare for me. I was completely fine with painting as a hobby and then people started knocking down my doors paying me more than my day job for each of my doodles. Now, this. I graduated from art school so I could have a degree, not because I wanted to represent a whole generation of visual artists in some real-life hunger games.” 

That wasn't true. Tae knew the real reason why he kept painting. He buried it deep inside of him like a treasure that he didn't allow himself to touch, sunken into the bottom of the ocean of his conscious. He tried to forget it all, but at times like these, it seemed impossible to avoid the truth. It was staring him in the face with disbelief at that very moment. 

“Now, I'm tired of having to hold it back.”

“How do I start this?” Taehyung’s teeth sunk into his lips.

“I’m nothing special, Hoseok. I don't come from a broken home, I am well off financially and I was raised right.” That was the beginning. It wouldn't make sense to take it back now, would it? 

“And then...you came into all of this.” Tae paused to look up at Hoseok, who had put down his coffee mug and muted the tv, giving all his attention to Taehyung with a comforting and awaiting expression. 

“A very smart lady once said that…’The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.’ “ 

“Would you care to explain to me how you just happened, Jung Hoseok?” Tae raised his voice, water beginning to build at the edges of his eyes. 

“Because to me, my life without you was like a blank canvas. I am a blank canvas. My life had no color or shape before you came into it. You paint my life...and it’s beautiful now that you're here.” Taehyung let out a mix between a sob and a chuckle. He paused.

He took a deep breath, avoiding Hoseok’s gaze. “I guess it’s because of the fact that I kind of love you, Hobi.” 

“And I kinda always have.” The words feel numb as they escape Taehyung’s mouth.

“Taehyung, that’s beautiful.” Hobi grinned that old goofy grin that never failed to make Taehyung cringe a little, taking Tae’s hand and sitting next to him on the bed. 

Taehyung hid his face in the sheets. Hobi panicked and wondered if he had said anything offsetting. “Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh no! I mean,” He said, lifting up the sheets to reveal a tomato red Taehyung. “Me too. I love you, too. For real.” 

“Oh. Can I...do this?’ Taehyung inched closer. 

“You can. We can.” Hoseok leaned in and tenderly pecked his lips.


	6. Énoument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6/7 TEAM KOREA REPRESENTATIVE:  
> THE BULLETPROOF STRATEGY
> 
> “The past is never where you think you left it.”  
> -Katherine Anne Porter
> 
> SUBJECT: PARK JI MIN

It might've been a bit too late when Jimin realized he couldn't drown his problems in chardonnay. The apartment had never felt so cold and empty, and that Nat King Cole song began to feel one or two generations too old. 

He took a sip and placed it down on his dresser, examining his bedroom for the last time in a while. He had tidied it this morning, seeing that his bed was made and that everything he would need was packed neatly in his carry-on waiting for him at the door.

Jimin wasn't a heavy packer, but it pained him to see all of his things hidden away in drawers and boxes where they wouldn't be used for months. The room felt bleak and lost in time, almost as if he hadn't spent two years living in it.  
Two years?

Eight years, actually. Since...

\----------------------------------------------------------------

2010\. Buk District, Busan.

“Don't worry about it. Seriously. If we don't get back by 7:00, I’m sure they won't even bat an eye.” A young Jimin grinned at a boy with a shy demeanor who dragged his eyes across the ground of the gas station convenience store tiles. He looked up every once in a while as if he was about to say something, but then shut his mouth before getting it out in a stutter. 

The boy was an inch taller than Jimin, although Jimin was two years ahead of him in school. He had a large nose, doe eyes, embedded with delicate lashes and lips that were bigger on the bottom, shying at the top. He wore his school uniform, seeing that he didn't have time to change after he got shelled from his own home by his best friend since birth.

“Look. We’ll get some slushies and waltz the plaza. It’s not like we’re going to a strip club.” Jimin teased.

“You would know, wouldn't you.” The boy grinned, scrunching his nose. Jimin turned and hit the boy with a bag of chips he grabbed from one of the shelves in the isle. “Sh!” He glared. 

“I don't understand why we can't just get slushies at home? Why did we even ask for that machine for my birthday, then?” The boy pointed out. Jimin chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Silly. What is it with you and being such a couch potato? Do you think life takes place inside of your penthouse?” Jimin walked over to the slushy machine and started filling a tall cup with sweet, icy sludge. The boy frowned slightly and shrugged. “C’mon. What flavor do you want?”

 

Outside the convenience store, about 10 minutes later, Jimin was leaning against the frigid steel railing. He watched the cars speed on by the main road, each containing people crossing paths with him and moving on with their busy lives. Jimin got a brain-freeze. The night was far from clear, but whatever light that couldn't be seen up in the sky could be seen in the flashing of the traffic lights and headlights. 

He didn't have to be the boss’ kid out here. No paparazzi cared what brand clothes he was wore to a gas station, at least. What scared him was that some A-listers’ sasaengs, did. It was refreshing for Jimin to not be monitored by his maids. No one would nag him missing his evening bath, or his tea getting cold in this rag-tag plaza. Suddenly, a song came to mind…Jimin began humming the hymn, soothing himself as he enjoyed the fresh air (as fresh as the air in urban Busan could be). 

Why couldn't the little one understand it? Poor kid, raised with everything he’s ever wanted, yet, he lacked a sense of freedom. Jimin chuckled. 

They were raised together. Their penthouses stood tall at the center of rural Busan, married together side-by-side, towering over the businesses and companies that were owned by either of their families. Because of this, Jimin thought he would understand him the most, but it turns out that even people with practically the same lives have their differences. They were polar opposites when it came to how they felt about their overwhelming wealth. 

Jimin liked being the center of attention at school, using his connections to get him on top of things and in control of his image. He didn't mind using his father’s money to get him where he needed to be: first in command of how things worked around there.

The other...

“Jimin?” Behind him, the boy stood with a slushy in-hand. He bit at his lips but he was looking directly at Jimin, this time. “Mmn...yeah?” Jimin didn't bother turning around he could recognize the voice in a crowd of thousands. “We have school tomorrow and I didn't do my math homework so we should get going--” He rambled on, watching for a reaction from Jimin. None came except for a shushed mumble. The boy leaned next to Jimin, gesturing to his ear. “What?” 

“I said…” Jimin put his hand on the boy’s cheek and gradually closed the space between them, their lips briskly brushing over one another.

“Have some fun for once. You were born a billionaire for a reason, Jungkook.” Jimin rolled his eyes, playfully.

Jungkook’s eyes glittered for a few seconds and then he snapped out of it. “That was uncalled for. You can't just do that on these streets, you’ll get us beat up by Jiwook’s gang.” 

“They can't know we’re out here. What, d’ya think they sneaked in trackers on your backpack while you were dozing in Math class?” Jimin studied the boy’s face, now tinted with a cherry blush. “I want you, too.” Jimin planted a kiss on Jungkook’s collar. 

Jungkook swallowed hard, eyes glued on the pavement. “J-Jimin.”

Jimin lifted his head from Jungkook’s shoulder and paid attention. The sides of Jungkook’s lips perked up. “We should get going if we’re gonna catch that train instead of calling the limo.” He quickly changed the subject.

“Hmn...yeah, okay.” Jimin grinned, suspiciously. “Text your dad I’ll be staying over today, by the way.” And with that, Jungkook intertwined his hand in between Jimin’s and started marching towards the station. He stopped after a few steps and faced Jimin. 

“Just so you know, I do accept this side of us. I love you.” He turned back around and dragged Jimin the rest of the way there, blossoming red. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s for the best, Jimin. You know that.” Jimin’s father sat with his arms crossed, leaning into his office chair. “We couldn't let you...get ruined because of this.”

Three newspapers lay in front of him. Their headlines read basically the same slogan: “Billionaire's Son Caught With Mysterious Boy.” Chills ran down Jimin’s back as his eyes fall on a picture of Jeon Jungkook kissing a blurred photo of...himself. “I don't care...who you like. I just can't have idiots denying us contracts because of their stupid beliefs.” Jimin’s father made clear, rolling his chair to the window of this office. 

“So...Jungkook--” “Jungkook was transferred to a boarding school of the arts in Seoul.” Jimin’s dad sighed. Tears rimmed Jimin’s eyes, his lips quivering. Jimin’s father raised a brow. “His parents...they are not as accepting as I am, Jimin. Remember this the next time you go around recklessly missing a curfew.” 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Jimin set down his empty glass on top of the dresser for the last time, wrapped his fingers around the handle of his carry-on, and rolled it out the door.


	7. Pyrrhic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7/7 TEAM KOREA REPRESENTATIVE:  
> THE BULLETPROOF STRATEGY
> 
> “If you spend your time hoping someone will suffer the consequences for what they did to your heart, then you're allowing them to hurt you a second time in your mind.”
> 
>  
> 
> -Shannon L. Alder
> 
> SUBJECT: JEON JEONG GUK

The cafe opened up at 6:00 AM, and setting up speakers and equipment took about 15 minutes each morning. 

In the beginning, he woke up at 5:15. He wanted to be there on time every time, but as the days went on, Jungkook figured he didn't need that much time to get to the cafe he lived directly above.

It was like attending highschool again. He woke up, threw on whatever clothes seemed like they'd look okay, and almost instinctively grabbed his backpack. But it was Sunday. He was in college. His classes weren't until Tuesday. 

The gig was a funny story. Jungkook had just graduated, walks into the cafe he regulars and looks at the dude who’s been serving him. The barista goes “Now that you've got that diploma, then I guess the next thing you need is a venue, eh?” Jungkook laughs, at first. Then, as the barista begins focusing on drying the dishes, Jungkook smile quickly fades. “For real? Like...I can perform here until I get a job?” He looks up at the busy barista, hope in his eyes. “Here's the deal. That speaker is broken, and to fix it we have to pay a month’s worth of what you'd earn working here. Besides, I hear your old man’s loaded so the salary shouldn't be that important. What you need--” He puts down the cup he was drying and points his finger at Jungkook. “Is exposure.” 

From then on, it was coming down every other day and singing to the bustling people of Seoul.

Jungkook lived in an aesthetic, it had seemed. For the first time in his life, he wasn't running. And even though that meant living by himself, and hesitating to leave his shades and mask on top of his dresser each morning, he convinced himself it was part of being free. To live and let live. Jungkook now lived by that simple rule...instead of those that were previously set by his dad.

Every now and then, he caught himself following them...in the broader scheme of things. Most of the time he could make conscious decisions.

Never put your love above yourself.

“I don't know, he’s kinda hot.” Puffs of condensation escaped Jungkook’s mouth as his lips formed a sheepish smile. 

“Come on! Look at you...all red.” Nakamoto elbowed Jungkook as they walked towards the train station making it's last rounds out to the student dorms. 

“It's January, genius.” Jungkook chuckled. After a few moments of anticipated silence, Nakamoto rushed ahead of Jungkook and turned to face him, galloping backwards with a goofy grin plastered on his face. 

“Right, but you like him, right?!” He shouted out loud enough for the girls a little bit ahead of them burst out in laughter before sucking it up. 

“Sure, Yuta.” 

Never refuse money. 

“It had already been three weeks. Isn't the paparazzi supposed to cut down on the stalking after two?” Jungkook mumbled out, opening his P.O. box to find dozens of official-looking envelopes crammed in what was supposed to be a semi-empty compartment with *maybe* one or two magazines in there. 

He shoved his hand in it, and grabbed a fist-full of letters. He then kicked the garbage bin so it was directly under his box, and started throwing scrunched up envelopes in. 

He closed his P.O. box and set his keys in his hoodie’s left pocket, started walking out the door of the post office. Just then, he noticed a bag leaning against the glass door outside. It was black and zipped almost all the way, except for a small opening on the left. There was just enough light for Jungkook to see what was inside.

Stacked, yellow cylinder wads of won. Upon his discovery of the misplaced bag, Jungkook realized he had a choice of turning it into the police or keeping the money set at his feet. Money wasn't something unfamiliar to him. In fact, he had dealt with it all his life. It was like the childhood friend that your parents would force you to play with because your parents were friends. He snarled in distaste at the sight of it, now. 

*plop* He threw the bag of cash on a counter in front of an officer working the 3-5 shift. “I found this in front of this post office,” Jungkook took out his phone and copied the address of where he had just been on a piece of notebook paper he had torn from his school binder. “Please...return the money to its owner.” Without looking up to see the officer’s expression, Jungkook pushed yet another glass door. He shut his car door and sighed.

Keep your friends close...Jungkook didn't acquaint himself with a particular group of people, he was always the floater, so that wasn't a problem.

And your enemies closer. Jungkook didn't have many enemies, either. Just a bunch of kids who thought their pure lives were tainted by Jungkook’s existence. A man with money and power! Horrifying!! And he was proud of his identity! Ludicrous!!

Jungkook chuckled as he sank his teeth into a piece of slightly burnt toast, spread butter painting his lips. He then shuffled his bare feet across the kitchen floor and stopped to put on his shoes, waiting by the front door. They were a bit tattered, but Jungkook didn't see a need to go out and buy a new pair just yet because the soles hadn't any holes in them. 

Still chewing on the toast, Jungkook bounced down the stairs while sliding on his red beanie to cover his bedhead and rolling up the sleeves of his grey hoodie. The shop already smelled of the good Sunday coffee and fresh bread, just taken out of the oven. He wafted the air, antically. “Laura,” Jungkook knitted his eyebrows matter-of-factly. “You know Ashley won't notice if you pluck a bun from the dozen, today. She won't be back until…” He unlocked his phone. A notification popped on his screen from some news station. He swiped it up to observe the time. “12:00. We've got an hour, here! That's time to bake another batch!” Laura gave Jungkook a lackadaisical stare. “You're lucky I didn't eat because I slept in a bit too late, bunbun,” she said, tossing him a hot one from the pan on the counter.

“Great. Great…” Jungkook set it down on a napkin on top of one of the tables near where he sat down and started tuning his acoustic guitar. Then, he heard a knock on the glass of the cafe door. Without looking up, Jungkook yelled out “We’ll be open at 8!!” nonchalantly and continued tuning. It was only the third time the knocking had continued that Jungkook started getting a little annoyed. He got up from his performing chair and went to see who had the balls to be up and out at 7 AM pissing some poor musician off. 

Lucas?

He was dressed in a winter jacket, with his hood up and a scarf wrapped over his nose and mouth. His eyes filled with urgency.

Something was wrong.

The last time Jungkook had seen this much urgency and panic in the eyes of his colleague was in his junior year of highschool. 

It wasn't raining out, but there was no sunlight playing with the curtains of Jungkook’s apartment that morning. Overcast.

“I thought you...would hate me for it.” Jungkook admitted to him. Lucas was sitting at the edge of the bed, breathing deeply. There was a long pause in conversation. “I already knew you were. And that this was how you felt about it. How you felt about me.” He sat up and tapped his fingers on the sheets. “I don't hate you, Jungkook.” He said, relaxing his bare back.

Jungkook lay on the bed, trying to drown himself in the comforter. “Do you love me, then?” 

Without another word, Lucas turned around to look at Jungkook. That was when he had first acquainted himself with that same look of panic he had on his face, right now.

Jungkook opened the door.

Lucas marched in, not caring enough to look at Jungkook or even greet him properly, and slammed a newspaper on the table with the bun on it. He then snapped at Jungkook and pointed to the headline. 

“Chosen Representative for Vocal Performance Disappears, NCRC Now Searches For Replacement,” it read. Jungkook shrugged and gave Lucas an indifferent look. “Yeah. I would, too, if I had that many people watching my every move and judging whether I can carry a whole nation on my throat or not.” He snapped. 

“Right but there's something you're missing, here. It’s YOU can't disappear, again. And they know that.” Lucas remarked.

“Excuse me?” 

“If you want to convince your father that cutting ties was a mistake, then you better not fuck this up.” Lucas restated, moving his finger down to a paragraph about halfway down the page.

“It has been decided by the council that a graduate of the Seoul School Of Performing Arts, Jeon Jungkook, is to replace Park Soo Lee in representing Korea in the Vocal Performance category.” 

Jungkook buried his head in his arms on the table and breathed in. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He then lifted up his head and stared at Lucas directly in the eye...a long, knowing grin started spreading on his face.

“How much did you pay them to write this shit up?” Jungkook punched Lucas on the shoulder, lightly. Lucas’ expression remained solemn. “I didn't pay anything...except the newspaper stand on my way out from the Quick-E Mart.”

Just then, a shriek of joy erupted from behind the counter. Laura pointed the remote toward the brand new overhead television and pressed the “on” button. 

The tv flashed on. It was on a news station, broadcasting the same well-made joke that Lucas was pulling...Because Lucas had the time, effort and money to pay a reporter at a public ne…

“You weren't kidding, huh?” Jungkook gaped at the television. The program then transitioned to a list of names, updated.

The final representatives for Korea were:

Kim Seokjin- Culinary Arts  
Min Yoongi - Audio Arts  
Jung Hoseok - Design and Fashion  
Kim Namjoon - Literature  
Kim Taehyung - Visual Arts  
Park Jimin - Dance  
Jeon Jeongguk - Vocal

Jungkook kicked the table and stomped back up the stairs, without a single word.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope  
> You  
> Don't  
> Suffer.


End file.
